If you don't already know, besides being a Rising Internet Star, yours truly is also a quasi-boobtologist(which, for the benefit of my non-intellectual readers, means that I am REALLY into women's boobs). I couldn't explain why I am unreasonably fond of boobs but really, I'm the type of guy who'd hang out in food courts, checking out women's breasts, often doing double takes–something which, more often than not ends up with me being put in a very precarious situation.
(Like this one time a bunch of high school kids ganged up on me and took turns kicking me around while I, lay down and doubled up in a fetal position in self defense. But really, in my defense, the tits on one of the kids' girlfriend I fondled while she wasn't looking looked really nice and I didn't really intend to run; much less, get caught)
I guess my fascination with boobs is rooted from the fact that my fiancee arguably has the best pair of mammaries in the world: fairly large, not too bouncy and I don't know if you'll believe me, but nectar oozes from it when I suck on it–which leads me to believe that her wonderful body has been developing her boobular region when I was still in grade school eating erasers and being bullied for my lunch money. (Or am I just justifying my addiction to boobies by making it look like it's a manifestation of my immortally chaste love for my fiancee by comparing every pair of tits out there to hers? I don't know. What the fuck are you? A fucking narc?)
I guess what I'm saying is that I was (past tense, more on this later) very much into tits. It was so bad that it has gotten to a point where I automatically disqualify females from being my friend based on the size of her tits. This boobie addiction was especially heightened whenever summer rolls in–the season where tight tank tops and tubes make their glorious return. During this time of year, I usually become more aggressive in terms of checking out women's breasts. In fact, there were numerous instances when a woman in the MRT would, disgustedly, move to the back end of the car because I was staring down her chest area for a solid 15 minutes without blinking.
But ever since I accepted gigs from FHM, I felt like my interest in boobs–and women in general–have waned immensely. And really, you can't blame me. I mean I've done a total of three interviews for FHM–interviews which involve me being exposed to hot women in various stages of undress and their titties in different angles and under different lighting conditions for extended periods of time.
At first I thought I hit the jackpot, getting to interview hot chicks, getting to ogle at boobies with a feigned expression appropriate for someone appreciating a Van Gogh. But really, it gets old quite fast. So now, instead of seeing breasts as sweet, wonderful, huge orbs of joy, I now see breasts as nothing more than adipose tissue that will eventually sag down to a woman's hips and be the cause of her husband's leaving her for a young, nubile stripper who'd do anything for a green card.
Most of you will read this post, judge me and ask "How can anyone possibly get tired of titties?" And to you I will say "You're just showing me how unfamous you are. Fistfight?"
But seriously, I need to kindle anew my passion for wonderful tits and I heard that this can be done by asking another man to put his penis in my mouth and unlo–No, wait.
Anyway, here's the latest interview I did for FHM.
Oh, and by the way:
Mike "Fucking" Villar
"a Manila-based blogger made famous by his Atrocities of Friendster series, a regular feature he publishes on his blog where he mercilessly criticizes and mocks pictures of ugly people he stumbles upon on popular social networking site, Friendster. Although a lot of people are offended by what he writes, long-time readers of his blog regard him as a brilliant satire writer."
-Taken from my WikiBios page
